Dragged into Darkness (6 page)

“Oh, I’ve got a patient who had his lung removed because of pneumonia, other than that, nothing special,” Drake said, but before he could carry on, his pager beeped.

Grace knew she couldn’t keep lopping off appendages to lose weight but internal organs were another matter—the human body possessed a number of surplus
internals
organs that if removed wouldn’t interfere with the body’s ability to function.  And there was an added bonus—no aesthetic problems, everybody would see the outside was normal.  No one would know that things were missing on the inside.  How much did a lung weigh?

***

The Friday night forecast for Yosemite was grim, with no likely improvement all weekend, so camping should produce the right circumstances for what Grace intended.  A nice viral pneumonia would do nicely.  The virus would attack the tissue damage caused by childhood bronchitis and within twelve to thirty hours, the damage should be irreparable.

Finding a secluded spot wasn’t difficult since it was the off-season.  Only one other tent and a trailer were in her allotted section of the park and parking as far away from the bathroom facilities as possible would guarantee no disturbances.  Grace pitched her tent for appearances but she planned on sleeping outside of it this weekend. 

By nine, it was raining, by ten it was pissing down.  Grace was smiling inside her sodden sleeping bag, lying out in the open rain.  “Bring it home to mama,” she said, and tried to sleep.

***

The drive home Sunday night was a bitch, it was still raining and the flu had already set in.  Grace couldn’t make out whether her vision was failing due to the ill effects of the influenza or whether the wipers couldn’t keep up with the torrents of water bouncing off the windshield. 

The coughing started and didn’t stop.  Grace doubled up over the steering wheel and phlegm coated the fist she held to her mouth.  She was coughing so hard that her eyes watered and her foot involuntarily pressed down on the gas pedal.  Grace sped through the intersection unaware that the light was red or of the truck that tee-boned her jeep from the left.

Grace awoke in a hospital bed plugged into every piece of equipment the facility had to spare.  A nurse said that she would get the doctor and Grace passed back into unconsciousness.

An hour later the doctor was sitting by her side with a smile and sad eyes.  “Hello Grace, I hear you’re a doctor?” he said.

“Yes,” Grace said weakly.

“Well, you should understand what we did was for your own good, yes?”

“I understand,” Grace said supportively.  “How long have I been here?”

“Eight days,” he said, “I kept you sedated to allow your body to heal itself.”

“And is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes.  You should be on the road to recovery now,” he said. 

“Why should I be on the road to recovery?” Grace asked.

“You’ve had a terrible car accident.  Do you remember it?”

Grace nodded.  She relayed the events leading up to the accident and the terrible chill she had caught from being out in the rain (her official story if anyone asked).  The doctor listened and nodded at the appropriate times.

“So you remember being ill?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  That’s good,” the doctor paused.  “I want you to understand we had no option but to do what we did.  If we hadn’t, you would have died.”

“Give it to me straight, I’m a doctor, Doc,” Grace joked, then winced at the spike of pain in her body.

“You had a viral pneumonia, not a chill, and the damage to your left lung was considerable.  The onset of the influenza was extreme and quickly advanced to pneumonia.  I had no option but to remove it,” the doctor said gravely.

“I understand,” Grace said, and tried to contain a smile.  She had gotten just what she wanted.

“But Grace, we had to do more.  When the truck sideswiped you, a steel door-reinforcing bar impaled you.  We’ve had to remove a kidney as well.  I am so very sorry.  Is there anyone we can call?” the doctor said.

“No.  No there isn’t.  I would just like a moment by myself,” Grace said.

“I totally understand.  I’ll check in on you later,” the doctor said, getting up.

Grace watched the doctor go but suddenly he stopped and turned.  “Grace, we noticed that a number of your toes were missing.  How did that happen?” he asked.

“Frostbite when I was skiing in Tahoe.  I seem to be accident prone,” Grace said, relaying her second official story.

“Like I said, I’ll drop by later,” he said sadly.

She waited for him to close the door before a smile lit up her face.  She couldn’t believe it, two organs for the price of one!  It was fantastic; she wanted to scream her pleasure at the top of her voice.  She couldn’t wait to weigh herself. 

Grace had to wait another ten days before she could weigh herself.  The hospital kept her until she was totally recovered from the operation and the accident.  As soon as Grace was home, she was out of her clothes and on the scales.  The organ removals and the controlled diet the hospital kept her on were responsible for a loss of fourteen pounds.  Grace came in at a hundred and seventy-two pounds even.

Grace had negotiated with her own hospital a month’s leave of absence to recuperate.  She spent her time in the gym working out and in the sauna, sweating.  Her recent weight loss, even if it was by medical means, gave her the impetus to try harder to get down to her target weight.  For the first time she believed she could go the distance.

When Grace’s month was up she weighed herself.  She wanted to cry.  All that sweating had resulted in a loss of only five pounds.  She wanted her target weight and she wanted it now.

Grace went back to the hospital with a permanent rain cloud over her head and found it hard to concentrate on her work.  Relaxing in the doctor’s staff room, she read about the latest advances in prosthetic limbs.  The article detailed how a new generation of carbon fiber and alloy limbs were not only seventy percent lighter than a human limb but had twice the strength.  The prosthetic limbs featured were legs that had been used in the disabled Olympics to great effect. 
Seventy percent lighter
, Grace
thought
.

Doctor Drake burst into the room and disturbed Grace’s thoughts.  “Jesus Christ, he’s done it again,” he said.

“Who?”
Grace asked.

“Old man Cameron. 
Fucked up again.
  This time he’s operated on a child’s hand, but the wrong one.  He’s done more damage to the healthy hand than the bad hand had in the first place.  That’s
it,
I’m going to make sure the hospital doesn’t cover this one up.  I want that butcher removed,” Drake raged. 

***

Grace arrived outside Doctor Cameron’s home just after nine that night with a solution to everyone’s problems.  Cameron answered the door.

“Oh hello, Grace.
  I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his voice slurred.

Grace couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the stench of alcohol wafting from the old man’s direction.  “Yes, I know, but I wanted to discuss something with you,” she said.

“So, it’s to be you who’s to put the boot in, is it?”  Cameron wavered on the spot.

“No, I’ve come to help you.  Can I come in?”

Cameron showed Grace into his living room, which looked and smelled like Cameron’s insides.  Whisky bottles, empty or otherwise, littered the mantelpiece, tables and shelves like ornaments, and the stale stink of cigarette smoke clung to the walls.  Grace sat down and placed the thick manila envelope on her lap and waited for Cameron to join her. 

“You’ve heard about my day, I suppose?” he said.

“Yes, and I think I have a solution to your predicament,” she said.

“A solution?”

“Yes, but only if you help me to do something.”

“What?” Cameron asked eagerly.

Grace could see the desperation in his eyes.  He knew he was up against the ropes and he would do anything to save his ass. 
This is going to work
, she thought.

“I have falsified your patient’s file indicating that the hand you operated on was the correct one and the mistake was typographical.  Why should a doctor as good as
yourself
suffer when there’s a perfectly expendable secretary to take the fall?” Grace said, handing him the file from the envelope.

Grace read Cameron’s face as the old man flicked through her handiwork.  His eyes were alive with the possibility that he would get away with his
error,
no drunken haze clouded his judgment now.  Flecks of spittle glistened on his lips.  His tongue flicked across his thin mouth like a lizard preparing to snare a fly.  The incompetent bastard was hers.

“I would be willing to stand up on your behalf at a tribunal, if needs be,” Grace added, tipping the balance.

Cameron turned to Grace and asked, “Why help me?”

“Because I want you to do something for me,” Grace replied.

Grace removed the magazine about the prosthetic limbs and gave it to Cameron.  As he scanned the article, she explained what she wanted.

“I have prepared a case file,” Grace removed it from the envelope, “showing that after my accident I came to you about pains in my thighs.  You ran an MRI and discovered that the doctors in Yosemite failed to notice fractures in both my femurs.”

Cameron stared up from the magazine article, a puzzled look plastered across his face.  His booze addled brain had failed to make the leap.

Grace continued.  “This has led to circulation problems in the bones, a form of vascular necrosis, and the bones are dying.  After several procedures, attempts have failed to save the femurs and that means you will have to amputate both my legs six inches from the hip.”

“Are you insane?  You want me to remove your legs unnecessarily?” Cameron said, stunned.

“I just want to reach my target weight.  And if you don’t do what I want, exactly the way I want it, then these files won’t make it to your hearing and you won’t get to keep your precious medical license.  So what’s it to be, Doctor?”  Grace produced a pen from her purse and offered it to the nervous looking doctor.  “Now will you sign the file?”

***

When Grace awoke from the surgery a week later, she stared at the smooth bed sheets lying flat against the mattress where her legs should have been.  A warm tingle of delight filled her belly and she stretched to touch the empty space.  Grace had to be close now.

She lay back and saw her new legs lying on the table opposite the bed.  They looked beautiful in polished black and silver, very sporty looking with their elegant levers and slender pistons.  She had chosen not to have the mechanical workings covered with synthetic flesh and muscle to make them more human.  Firstly, she couldn’t afford the extra weight, and secondly, she wanted people to notice, to know what she had done to achieve her target weight.  Grace slipped back into a peaceful sleep, eager to try on her legs and weigh herself.

It was another ten days before she had the chance to try on her legs.  Naked in her bathroom, sitting in her wheelchair, Grace slipped the false limbs over her stumps and fastened the harness the way the specialist had shown her in the hospital.  Gingerly, she rose to her feet and took a few steadying steps.  She examined her new self in the mirror.